


sewing buttercups

by Karentt1



Series: Needle and Thread [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hey, I kinda dont wanna write that in this universe, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Not Beta Read, They arent in a relationship yet tho, This is, but this is just too much fun, hes my second favourite character, i hope i got yennefers character right...., i was so inspired after writing the first one i wrote a new one right after, i would just like to say i actually really love geralt, im proud of me, im sorry, im sorry if you like him, me? writing at ungoldly in the hours of night, sadly yes, sorry - Freeform, you know how the second fic in this series wasn't that graphic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karentt1/pseuds/Karentt1
Summary: Yennefer hated Jaskier. Maybe she even loved him, but she wasn't going to admit that just yet.But this was too much for even her. What was done to Jaskier was unforgivable.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Needle and Thread [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813528
Comments: 30
Kudos: 116
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	sewing buttercups

**Author's Note:**

> again, this is more graphic than my other one. it isn't like sewing skills, but its still pretty bad. im sorry, and i completely understand if you cant read it. if you don't want to read graphic stuff but want to continue the series, the second part is the graphic part. the first and third are fine.

Yennefer found him in the tavern, nursing a mug of ale, looking like the world had finally broken him. Yennefer glided in, bringing the smell of gooseberries and lilacs with her, and prayed it did. It would be very amusing, she thought. 

“Hello lost little pet,” she cooed, slipping beside him at the bar counter. She crossed her legs elegantly, the shimmering fabric of her dress draping over the stool. Jaskier didn’t even lift his head to glare at her, just kept staring into the liquid. “Where’s your tether?” 

She looked around, looking for Geralt but she couldn’t see the man anywhere. She wondered if Jaskier had finally ditched him, or if it had been the other way around. That would explain why Jaskier looked like he was moping, but she always thought that maybe Geralt would leave him. He would finally get sick of his voice. 

“He’s at a contract,” Jaskier replied, his voice hoarse. He gripped his glass tighter, and Yennefer caught the movement, evaluating it in her head. She always did that, making sure she understood everything happening in the room at all times. “He’ll be back in an hour.” 

“Pity. I was hoping to see him,” Yennefer mock sighed, resting her head on her hand. “We haven’t talked in a long time.” 

“Lucky you,” Jaskier muttered, raising the glass to his lips and taking a sip. He set the glass down again with a thud, jolting the liquid inside. Yennefer straightened out, watching him more carefully. 

“Lucky me? I thought you would have loved to have me out of the way, something wrong? Trouble in paradise?” Yennefer asked, gesturing to the barmaid to bring her a glass. The barmaid obliged, and Yennefer took a sip of her new glass, wrinkling her nose at the taste. “Ugh, tastes like cow piss.” 

“Typical of you to know what that tastes like,” Jaskier shot back and Yennefer slammed her glass down, finally happy to have a fight. 

“You little bastard, I’m trying to be polite,” Yennefer snarled, and Jaskier shot his head up for the first time that evening. His eyes were red rimmed and filled with fire. Yennefer loved it. 

“Don’t call me a fucking pet then,” he snapped back, his fingers twitching. Yennefer wondered if he was itching for a fight or for his lute. It didn’t seem to be anywhere in the vicinity, and Yenenfer knew the bard coveted that instrument more than he did his life. Something must have happened to it; she knew he wouldn’t part with it willingly. 

“There’s the Jaskier I know,” Yenenfer murmured, voice smooth. Jaskier hesitantly pulled away, reigning in his anger. “I came here for a fight and I was worried you were backing down. You always did impress me.” 

Jaskier laughed, but didn’t say a word in return, something extremely uncharacteristic of him. Yennefer watched him slowly, sipping her drink. 

“You hear that? I said you impress me.” 

“I know,” Jaskier said, shaking his head softly. “I heard you the first time. Are you getting senile in your old age witch?” 

The insult was forced, like he was proving something, and Yennefer knew something was wrong. His voice was dead. She brushed her fingers against the rim of her glass, contemplating if she should bring it up. The two weren’t friends; they regularly declared their hatred for each other, but she was missing the fiery Jaskier who rose to the occasion, who sang on tables, clicking his boots together. She was looking forward to them clashing and this wasn’t good enough for her. She grabbed the glass again, and drank. 

“I believe I’ve mentioned the crows feet before?” she replied, deciding against saying anything to him about his mood. 

Jaskier didn’t say anything, just slowly slid his foot out from under him. He poured some coins into the innkeeper's hand, and went to leave the stool, but Yennefer caught his arm before he could. 

“C’mon, I was kidding,” she drawled, pulling him back. The man was tense and looked ready to run, and she was getting bored. “Stay awhile. Wait until Geralt comes back. We can talk until then.” 

She didn’t miss how Jaskier’s breath hitched at the sound of Geralt's name, and Yennefer pounced. She called for more drinks, and prepared to kill with her words. Who said Jaskier was the only wordsmith in town? She could be a poet too. 

“What’s with that? Are you finally together? I always thought so,” Yennefer teased, watching as Jaskier held his drink like it was the most important thing to him in the world. She knew he used to look at his lute like that. Same thing for Geralt. He was always fucking infatuated. Yennefer thought it was rather pathetic of him. 

“Isn’t what you thought he’d be? I’ve been there,” she continued, voice bitter. She hated thinking of the way things ended between them. She was lucky to finally be rid of the man. 

“I don’t know,” Jaskier said, drinking his alcohol. “He hasn’t said.” 

“Has he made love to you?” Yennefer laughed, then noticed Jaskiers stricken expression. “Okay fine bard. Has he fucked you yet? Didn’t think you’d so squeamish about the L-word.” 

Jaskier shook his head, and he didn’t say a word. 

“That’s a shame, he was always really good at it,” Yennefer said. She could practically see the knife slowly sink into Jaskiers back. In the back of her mind she wondered if she should shut up, maybe be kind for once. But Yennefer of Vengerburg has never been kind to a man once in her life. She wasn’t about to start now. “Why do you think I kept coming back? It wasn’t because of his fantastic emotional prowess, I’ll tell you that.” 

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Jaskier muttered, turning his brilliant blue eyes to her. They looked like the sea, something Yennefer once imagined drowning in with Jaskier. You couldn’t call her sane. “You always fucking do this, just stop.” 

Yennefer watched him as Jaskier took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. 

“I just need a minute,” Jaskier said determinedly. “I can do this.” 

“You don’t need to do anything, you need to have a fucking normal conversation,” Yennefer responded, flicking her hair to the side. She wondered what was wrong with Jaskier, and if she even dared ask him. She looked around, watching as the other patrons milled around. “Is Geralt almost here?” 

“It’s been twelve minutes,” Jaskier replied, and Yennefer turned to him surprised. Jaskier held her gaze, his blue eyes so pretty. Yennefer could understand why Geralt loved the man. He was a treasure. Yennefer thought that maybe if he wasn’t so hung up over a witcher, Yennefer might take him herself.

She removed that thought from her head. She wasn’t cruel enough to do that to Geralt. She was cruel, just not to Geralt. Most of the time. 

“So you can tell?” Yennefer laughed, drinking again. The glass was emptied, and she called for another one. Jaskier had barely started on his, and she laughed at him. She thought he was something of an alcoholic before. Something had changed. 

Jaskier shrugged, looking around. “I’ve gotten good at it.” 

“The question is,” Yennefer said, leaning close. She could feel her own breath on Jaskiers lips, and Jaskier looked down, watching her carefully. He looked like a frightened animal, and Yennefer was ready to beat the ass of whoever hurt him. She wanted her sparring partner back. “Why have you gotten good?” 

Of course, Jaskier could never know she was willing to kick someone's ass for him. What that might do to her reputation, she could barely even bear it. 

“It’s something to pass the time,” Jaskier said, then chuckled to himself, looking like he was trying to change the conversation. Yennefer scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“That’s not funny.” 

“I didn’t say it was.” 

“You implied it,” Yennefer said. She leaned back and Jaskier visibly relaxed, finally looking at ease. She felt a stab of anger fill her; were they so pitted against each other Jaskier could barely bear to be near her? She hated that thought. She didn’t know why. 

“I did nothing of the sort,” Jaskier whispered, then turned back to his drink. It was hard to hear him over the buzz of the tavern, people coming and going, people dancing the night away, and Yennefer wondered why Jaskier wasn’t with them. He used to be the life of the party, the person everyone's eyes were drawn to. She used to think he was a god, the god of whores, music, and brilliant attention. This was someone else, the man in front of her now. 

She pulled her eyes up and down the man, admiring his silky clothes. His outfit was dark green and gold, and Yennefer could picture herself wearing that colour combination sitting in a throne of bark, a white wolf with gold eyes at her feet. Maybe Jaskier kneeling on the side. It depended on where or not he pissed her off today. It was getting close today, but it was more because of his lack of response rather than his actual insults. 

Her eyes trailed over his clenched fingers, looking so soft. Yennefer wondered when the last time he played was. The calluses were gone, hard skin he boasted as the indicator of his dedication. 

Her eyes went up his slender waist, his arms that definitely had muscle but not enough to actually look wrong, the way some men looked. She loved that for him, the way he could be underestimated so easily. 

Her eyes went up to his neck, long and pale. She was about to move on, wax poetic about his eyes, not that she would ever mutter them outloud, but her eyes caught on something before she could continue.

Her fingers reached out, and Jaskier stiffened, looking more terrified then he did all night. She almost didn’t do anything, but she was Yennefer of Vengerburg, and she wanted answers. She would get them, no matter what. 

Jaskiers neck was clean, surprisingly unbitten, but just peeking out of his lacy shirt, a small red dot glared. It wasn’t noticeable. In fact, it was more of an angry pink than red. But as soon as Yennefer saw it, she couldn’t look away. 

Her fingers hooked on his shirt and pulled down, revealing more and more of the dots. Her eyes widened, almost glowing in the light, as the picture was revealed. She reached out with her other hand, tracing the line of the petals, the stem, and the little leaf poking out. Jaskier was breathing heavily, looking seconds away from a panic attack and Yennefer let go, moving back. 

“What the hell, did you try and give yourself a fucking tattoo?” she asked, looking shocked. Jaskier yanked his shirt up, trying to look angry but it came off as defeated instead, and he licked his lips. 

“I know you think I’m just some idiotic human, but I’m smarter than that,” Jaskier muttered, finally drinking his glass. He downed a good portion of it and coughed as the liquid burned his throat. He looked broken again, and now Yennefer knew the world had gotten to him. She was right. It wasn't supposed to feel this horrible. She got no satisfaction from his defeat, the way she used to when Geralt would leave him for her, and she hoped she didn’t care for Jaskier now. Caring for him would mean certain death, and she was Yennefer of Vengerburg and she wasn’t going to die. Not ever. 

“Who did that then?” Yennefer asked, pushing away her drink. She could admit she was a little tipsy, but the buttercup dots on Jaskiers shoulder and neck helped sober her up. 

Jaskier didn’t say a word, and Yennefer wished he would talk. The man barely ever shut up, she hated that it was finally now he kept his silence. That just meant she was going to have to guess. 

“Lover of yours?” 

Jaskier laughed, sounding fake. “I’m strong enough to fight a human off. I don’t know why you all think I’m so delicate.” 

“Witch? Wizard?” 

“I only know one,” Jaskier replied, looking pointedly at her. “She’s kind of a bitch though. Stop it Yennefer.” 

She ignored him, racking her brain for anyone else, but she couldn’t think of anyone. She wondered if an actual monster did it, but she knew that they probably wouldn’t stop and take the time to torture him like that, rather kill him right then. The dots looked like someone had torn through his skin with something coarse, like a small rope. 

When she couldn’t think of anyone, she leaned in again, this time not looking to seduce. “Does Geralt know?” she asked, and Jaskier stiffened once again. Yennefer noticed. Of course she did. She thought that she might have found the culprit. 

“Geralt did this to you?” 

For once, Jaskier didn’t say anything, just softly nodded his head. Yennefer leaned, back trying to think. She didn’t even consider Geralt; she thought he loved Jaskier too much to hurt him. Geralt always did run to Jaskier first when they were attacked, checking to make sure the man was okay, that he wasn’t bleeding, that he didn’t need a medic, that he wasn’t broken….

“That….can’t be right,” Yennefer muttered, tapping her nails against the glass. 

“Believe me or don’t, I don’t really care,” Jaskier said in a way that made Yennefer think that maybe he did. She licked her lips, thinking of something she could ask. She wanted to know more because maybe Geralt was more monstrous than she thought. This was intriguing. 

“What did he do?” she asked eventually. She figured it was an easy enough question; Jaskier could deny her if he wanted. Yennefer wouldn’t force him for this. She wasn’t cruel like that. 

She actually was, but she always thought she toned that down for just Geralt. Maybe it was starting to be Jaskier too. She didn’t like the idea of that. 

Jaskier didn’t say anything again, and Yennefer was growing frustrated. She combed her eyes over him once more, his fingers gliding against the stitches on his doublet. Yennefer watched them for a few seconds before it dawned on her. 

“No,” she said, because it was all she could. She couldn’t believe Geralt could do something like that, it seemed unbelievable. But the evidence was right there and she couldn’t deny it. She could still see tiny scars surrounding Jaskiers lips, like something had been put in, then tugged out. 

Yennefer always was a very protective person. She was also the type of person to drop someone easily if they pissed her off enough. She could already feel her hatred for Geralt boiling up inside of her, and the love she used to hold sink away. She didn’t think it would ever completely go away, but this gave her a chance to deny Geralt one again. She hated to think the man would do something like this to Jaskier. She always thought she was the cruel one. She must have been wrong. 

Jaskier nodded sadly, and Yennefer squeezed her hands tight. She took a deep breath, then grabbed Jaskier by the arm. He let out a yelp as he was dragged from the stool towards the door. Yennefer walked with a single minded determination, and people scrambled to get out of her way. 

“What are you doing?” he yelled, and every eye in the tavern turned to them. Jaskier continued to struggle in her grip as silence fell, like a first snow in winter. 

“I’m getting you out of here,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Don’t you want to leave? Don’t you want to run?” 

“Of course I do-” 

“Then come with me,” Yennefer snarled, making sure her voice was aggressive. She hoped to mask the care that was building in her. Jaskier could never know. She didn’t want him knowing she might have a weakness. 

“No,” Jaskier yelled, finally tearing his arm away from her. He looked around nervously, then tugged her to a corner in the back, covered in shadows. The tavern patrons watched them for a few more seconds, before continuing what they were doing. Yennefer barely tolerated herself being led, and she snatched her hand away as soon as they got the table. 

“Yennefer,” Jaskier began. He seemed to struggle, pursing his lips like he didn’t know what to say, and Yennefer wanted the wordsmith back, the person who traded insults and barbs with her like he had no fear in his heart. “I know you want to help in your own strange way. But I can’t go.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because if I leave, he’ll follow me. Don’t you think I haven’t already run? It’s hell, it’s not worth it.”

Yennefer pictured him in the forest, running from a beast behind him, desperate to be free, and she burned bright with rage. She pitied him; she wanted him to be safe. No one deserved that. 

“You don’t think I can protect you?” 

“The thing is,” Jaskier said, sighing deep. “I’m sick of being protected. You can do it, but I don’t think you could face him down in the end, and then he’ll find me. He’ll think I was kidnapped by a manipulative witch and it wasn’t my choice, and then he’d lock me up. He’d bring me the most delicious food, the most beautiful clothes, and he’d dote. But I can’t do that. At least here I can still be in the woods and I can still write my poetry in my head.” 

“So let yourself be kidnapped,” Yennefer replied. She wanted Jaskier to agree, she wanted Jaskier to hope. She wanted to see fire in him, she wanted to see anger. But Jaskier just shook his head sadly. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, so obviously Yennefer wondered how he could even believe it himself. “Besides, it’s just a one time thing.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” 

Jaskier sighed. “I know.” 

They were silent for a few seconds. “Does he kiss you?” Yennefer asked eventually. She hated the idea of Geralt brushing his lips against Jaskiers, no matter how gentle they were. She hated the idea that Geralt used to hold his and hers as well. 

Jaskier shook his head no. “I don’t even think he knows he loves me. I think he just thinks he wants to finally protect something himself. Something that doesn’t lie to him, someone who follows him willingly, someone who he can take care of.” Jaskier suddenly slammed his hands on the table, like he just realised something. Yennefer didn’t jump back at the sudden gesture. “Exactly like a fucking pet. Fuck. You were right.” 

Yennefer shook her head, angry that she was. “You could change this. Just ask.” 

“Thank you Yennefer. But I’ll stay.” Jaskier looked around slowly. He moved his hands to his neck and tugged his shirt up higher on his neck. “It’s been fifty-five minutes,” he whispered. “Will you stay to greet him?” 

Yennefer watched him, then shook her head. “No,” she muttered, and Jaskier nodded like he understood. She stood up, ready to leave. She turned to Jaskier, who was sitting at the table, drawing words into the wood with his finger, like he was writing songs he couldn’t sing no more. “But I’ll always know where you are,” she muttered, handing Jaskier a small ring. It glittered in light, a lovely purple, and Jaskier held it tight. “Just throw it to the ground and I’ll come.” 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said gratefully, slipping it into his pocket. Yennefer was slightly disappointed he didn’t wear it, but she understood. It would be too obvious. Geralt would know. 

She turned away, finally ready to leave. She was heading into the city now, where her thoughts would be overwhelmed by thousands of people screaming the streets. She was glad; it was everything she could do not to picture Jaskier sitting on the bed, shirt off, Geralt stitching-

* * *

Geralt gently threaded the string through Jaskiers skin, blood dripping down his shoulder. The blade was sharp; sharp enough to draw blood if you even rested your thumb on it. It was like Geralt didn’t want to be too cruel when he did this; like he wanted Jaskier to be comfortable. 

That simply wasn’t possible. The needle may be a simple jabbing pain, something Jaskier could bear, but the sensation of the thread being pulled through his skin made Jaskier scream inside. He didn’t dare to do it outside though. Someone might hear from next door, through the thin walls of the inn. 

Geralt poked his tongue out with almost a silly look of dedication, and Jaskier would probably think it was cute if he wasn’t so terrified. He tried to take a shaky breath in, and ended up letting out a tiny sob. Geralt seemed to ignore it and Jaskier was glad he did. 

The room was silent, like a fog had descended down upon them, coating the room until they couldn’t see. Geralt only had eyes for the patch of skin he was sewing, decorating even, with a tiny flower. It was about the size of Geralt's thumb; Jaskier was glad it wasn’t any larger. He didn’t think he could bear that, if it was the size of his hand. 

He had been attacked on the street, walking alone at night. The two had been staying in an inn, and Geralt let him leave to buy some desserts, promising independence for the first time since Jaskier ran. Jaskier knew Geralt had followed him instead, staying in the shadows, but he was willing to have anything. He could feel Geralt's eyes on him, the way he did when he was running through the forest, thinking of freedom. 

He had been heading back to the inn after getting their purchase when someone ran at him with a knife. Jaskier dodged just in time, and the knife skimmed his neck, drawing a small cut. Blood dripped down, and suddenly Geralt was there, slamming the man against the wall. Jaskier could hear the man's back break, but Geralt didn’t kill him, just let him go. He ran over to Jaskier, looking worried. He gathered Jaskier up in his arms, and for once, Jaskier was terrified of someone other than Geralt. He felt just a tiny bit safer with Geralt than he had for weeks. 

Of course, that didn’t last. Geralt couldn't bear looking at the cut on Jaskiers neck. He called it a failure on his part, and Jaskier tried to reassure him it was more than a paper cut to him. Geralt didn’t listen. He paced the room, eyes sometimes drifting to Jaskiers neck, and Jaskier needed him to calm down. 

Geralt had actually asked for permission this time. Jaskier thought that maybe he didn’t want to tie Jaskier down again, like he had with the brilliant blue ribbon. He doubted Geralt would listen if he said no. If he did say no, he wondered if Geralt would do something worse, having to stare at the cut all night. So he hesitantly said yes, and Geralt smiled so gratefully at him Jaskier almost didn’t mind. 

The thread was bloodstained now. The thread had been black in the first place, the thread Geralt used to fix his armour, but now it glistened red. Jaskier didn’t know that was possible. Black was the darkest colour. Red shouldn't show on it.

The air was thick and iron heavy, and Jaskier resisted the urge to throw up. That was something Geralt would surely get mad at. He didn’t want to ruin the blankets. 

“There,” Geralt said, cutting off the string with a snip of his silver scissors. Jaskier slumped, grateful it was over. Geralt ran his fingers over the artwork, looking so fucking proud of himself. “A buttercup. Just like you.” 

Jaskier stopped, and took a deep breath. He refused to even look at the art. He refused to look at the beastly thing he agreed to. He knew he would hate it no matter how well it was. No matter how good Geralt was with a needle and a thread. 

“I didn’t think you were listening when I said that,” Jaskier whispered. His voice was dead, like he had spent so much time screaming in his head it actually affected him. 

Geralt looked at him strangely. “I always listen when you talk.” 

Jaskier paused. “I didn’t know that,” he said, watching as Geralt pawed through his bag, picking out a simple silk shirt to wear to bed. It was white and Jaskier mourned it. The holes were still leaking blood and he knew it would stain. Jeremy had made it especially for him. 

He still put it on though. Of fucking course he did. 

Geralt grunted, then pulled Jaskier into the bed, under the covers. It was warm and Jaskier thought that maybe he was coming down with a fever. If he got sick he knew Geralt would stop and nurse him. It was something that should be comforting; it wasn’t. 

“Do you like it?” Geralt asked, sounding so shy, so expectant. Jaskier shuddered, and pretended to be asleep. He didn’t think he could lie about this. 

Geralt's arms tightened around him, lovingly so, and Jaskier thought about the days when he was free, when the overwhelming presence of a shadow didn’t follow him with every step he took. 

* * *

Yennefer waited outside, crossing her arms. Her hand tapped against the side, expecting Geralt soon. A few men hollered at her and she cursed them. She hated people like them, people who were so expectant to get what they wanted. 

Geralt came out of the night like an evil creature, covered in guts and blood. Just like Jaskier had said; he was coming back from a contract. A particularly difficult contract by both the looks and smell of him. He stank, and she wanted to throw up, not just because she was so horrified by him. 

He stopped when he saw her leaning against the inn wall, looking confused and maybe even a little afraid. She smiled bitterly when she noticed his fear, and she pushed off the wall, walking towards him. 

“You fucking disgust me,” she said, passing by him. Geralt was stiff and he didn’t move as she walked away, leaving behind the scent of gooseberries and lilac. 

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry about this. there will be a happy ending, i promise. eventually ;)


End file.
